


A Year's Time

by Sunne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Eventual Romance, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War, Quidditch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-06-10 08:35:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6947989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunne/pseuds/Sunne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war is over and now it is time for Katie, Oliver, Angelina, George, and Alicia to start living again. Lots of Quidditch and eventual KB/OW.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. January

**January**

 

_“Shadows settle on the place that you left,_

_and if you’re still breathing, you’re the lucky ones.” - Youth by Daughter_

 

Katie Bell knelt and pushed a row of Boxing Telescopes and Decoy Detonators to the side. She stuck her head into the space created and craned her neck to see into the back corner of the shelf, making small clicking noises with her tongue. Something squeaked in the darkness, and Katie wiggled her arm into the space.

“Ah, there you are.” Her fingers brushed against soft fur.

Katie pulled boxes of Decoy Detonators off the shelf and dumped them on the floor beside her until she caught sight of a tuft of pink fur. Slowly, so as not to startle the tiny creature, she reached forward. The Pygmy Puff eyed her warily and, deciding she was untrustworthy, rolled out of reach.

“Oh, come on!” Katie swore and sat back on her heels. Pushing a chunk of hair out of her eyes, she rubbed slowly at her face and gave the fluff-ball a dirty look. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” she told it.

The Pygmy Puff chirped in response, and, behind Katie, a chorus of squeaks rose from the cage she had set on the ground earlier. Just before closing up George’s shop, a small girl had managed to undo the lock on the cage. How she had managed that, Katie didn’t know, because the lock was magicked shut and the cage set up on a high shelf. The girl’s mother had apologized profusely and dragged her daughter out of the shop. However, the damage had been done. The Pygmy Puffs, sensing a chance to escape their nightly enclosure, had made a quick escape and found all the best hiding places in the shop.

Sarah, the part-time help Katie had forced George to hire four months ago, stayed as long as she could to help corral the puffs, but Katie was eventually left with the job of finding and catching the last one. The puff in question watched Katie intently as it chirped and rolled side to side. Scooting up, the boxes of detonators she had dropped on the floor being shifted out of the way, Katie slowly reached forward.

“That’s it. Come here, little guy.”

The Pygmy Puff took a step back, and Katie pushed on forward. A stack of Boxing Telescopes dropped to the floor with a clatter, but Katie ignored them. They were sturdy devices made with abuse in mind. The barest hint of silky fur passed through her fingers, and Katie, thinking she had him, shoved herself forward. Her shoulder knocked hard into the shelf, and she recoiled as something punched her in the side of the head.

“Shit.” Katie jerked back with her hand pressed to her face and eyed the Boxing Telescope—its malfunction courtesy of a faulty trigger—with contempt.

The puff on the shelf chortled as he watched Katie.

“You think this is funny, huh?” Katie scooped up boxes of telescopes and detonators and dumped them on the shelf beside the Pygmy Puff. “Fine. You can just stay there all night,” she told it. “See if I care.”

Katie lifted the cage of puffs and stood. They rolled back and forth, their tiny squeaks and chirps conveying their amusement at Katie’s predicament—at least, it seemed that way—and she gave them the darkest look she could muster as she set them on the back counter.

A chunk of brown hair fell down from her ponytail, and she pushed it out of the way as she surveyed the joke shop. The broom and mop she had charmed earlier had run out of magical energy half-way through their work and needed to be re-charmed. Katie renewed the spells, and they jumped to life in renewed animation.

She moved to the register and tapped it with her wand, a roll of parchment feeding out of the side of the register detailing the day’s profits and losses. Rolling it into a tube, she bent down to toss it into the box George kept beneath the front counter when the front door opened.

“I’m sorry, but we’re closed.” Katie frowned—she was certain that she had locked the front door—and peeked over the edge of the counter.

“George Weasley!”

Angelina Johnson stormed through the shop, weaving quickly through the shelves and displays. A gust of cold, January air blew in behind her. Katie, familiar with her friend’s tendency towards the dramatic, stepped out from behind the counter and followed Angelina to the back of the store. She caught sight of her friend’s stony face and winced, feeling momentarily sorry for George. However, whatever he had done to unleash Angelina’s rage, Katie figured he had committed a social unforgivable.

“You get your sorry arse down here and have the balls to break up with me to my face,” she shouted up the stairs that lead to George’s apartment.

“I don’t think he’s home,” Katie offered. The charmed broom had finished its work, and she reached out to grab it before the spell wore off.  “I haven’t seen him all day.”

“Oh, he’s home.” Angelina glanced at Katie and returned to shouting up the stairwell. “I know you’re home. So, you might as well get your arse down here and talk to me.” She paused, waiting for an answer. “Come on, George. We all miss him, and this doesn’t fix anything.”

Katie heard a faint reply from up stairs.

“Fine, I’m coming up, then,” Angelina said and started up the stairs. Halfway up, she turned around and called back down the stairs. “Katie?” She reached into the inside pocket of her peacoat and pulled out a sheet of parchment, handing it to her friend. “This is for you.”

The parchment advertised:

 

**MONTROSE MAGPIES**

Open Tryouts

**Position** : Chaser

**Date** : Tuesday, January 26th

**Time** : Noon

**Location** : Brechin Esk Stadium

Please bring your own broom and gear. Tryouts begin promptly at noon.

 

A small, black and white image of a magpie flew from one end of the parchment to the other. Katie smoothed out the parchment and sighed, her eyes skimming over the words several times before shaking her head.

“You’re mad, Ange,” she muttered to herself and left the parchment on the back counter as she went to collect the de-charmed broom and mop. She placed them in the cupboard in the back of the shop.

Behind the front counter, Katie pulled out the folder of owled-in orders. She had fallen behind in filling orders over the past week. Flipping through the two dozen or so orders, Katie sat down on the stool and began sorting them according to the store section the particular items were in. She had gotten through nearly all of them when Ange reappeared.

“I think we’re finally through.” She pulled up the second stool and rested her chin in her hands as she watched Katie.

Katie flicked a glance at Ange. “Again?”

“He won’t talk to me, and I don’t know how to get through to him.”

“He’s grieving.” Finished sorting, she tidied up the piles.

“We’re all grieving and trying to put our lives back together after the war.” Ange grabbed a stack and flipped through them as she stood up.

Katie took the rest of the piles. “What did he say this time?” She moved to the far back of the shop where George kept the unshelved merchandise. She pulled several Skiving Snackboxes, a handful of Ton-Tongue Toffees and some Canary Creams off the shelf.

“He said that life had no meaning anymore, and our relationship had no meaning anymore.” Ange poked through the various enchanted quills, checked the order in her hand, and grabbed a half dozen Self-Writing Quills.

“Oh, Ange.”

“Don’t.” Ange shook her head, jaw set in anger. “I’m just done.”

Katie watched as her friend tore off a short length of brown paper to wrap the quills in. She had known Ange long enough to see through the visible anger and down to the pain simmering beneath. Setting her armful of joke products down, she wrapped her arms around her friend.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

“Me too.” Ange leaned into Katie for a moment before pushing away. She reached over and grabbed the Quidditch tryouts flyer. “Magpies are holding tryouts.” Her finger tapped the parchment, and the tiny magpie flying over the top swerved out of the way.

“Yeah, I saw.” Katie gave the parchment a cursory glance as she folded brown paper over the edges and corners of the boxes she wrapped. She tapped her wand against the side of the package and the recipient’s name and location were instantly written in bright orange ink.

“And?”

Tossing the package in the bin designated as “Outgoing,” Katie leaned against the counter, facing Ange, whose face had brightened since they had stopped discussing George.

Ange waggled her eyebrows up and down. “Magpies, Katie,” she repeated as if that said enough.

“I don’t think so.”

“And why not?” She set the parchment down and folded her arms. “This has been your dream since—well, since forever.”

Katie gave her friend an exasperated look.

“Well, fine. It’s been your dream ever since Oliver told you that he thought you had potential.”

“I was fourteen.” Katie returned to her stack of outgoing orders.

Ange reached her arm across Katie and snatched the orders out of her hand. “You once had a dream, Katie.”

Making an attempt to reclaim her order sheets and failing, Katie dropped her arms and sighed. “Yeah, I once wanted to play for the Magpies, but that was a long time ago. You know, I once fancied Oliver, too,” Katie said and looked at Ange, her meaning evident in her eyes, “but a  lot has happened since then.”

Ange leaned forward and squinted. “Do you still fancy him?”

Katie groaned as her friend laughed at her expense.

“That tells me more than enough.” Ange grinned, pleased at the near-confession she’d received. “I still can’t believe you fancied him.” She snorted, a sound entirely unbecoming of her. However, she had never been the type of person to worry over what other people thought of her. “Oliver Wood!”

Katie darted forward and grabbed her sheets of parchment. The heat of old memories and emotions crept up her face. “I was fourteen years old.” She turned away and resorted the orders.

“Fifteen,” Ange provided. “I distinctly remember you bringing him up in conversation even after he’d graduated.”

“Fine, fifteen,” Katie grumbled and glared down at the top-most order, a particularly detailed one requesting a variety of fireworks. It was addressed to a bloke in Gryffindor Tower, and Katie knew Professor McGonagall would have a conniption fit to see them flown into the Great Hall. She wrapped them anyways and tapped the package with her wand, shrinking it down to acceptable standards.

Her friend had wandered off into the empty store. From the back counter, Katie could hear her cooing softly. She poked her head around the corner and immediately frowned.

“How do you do that?”

Ange looked up from the Pygmy Puff in her arms. “Do what?”

“I spent a half hour trying to catch him.” Katie gestured at the puff being cuddled against her friend’s face.

“You have to have the right touch.” Ange regarded the puff adoringly before undoing the clasp on the cage and setting him down with the others. The cage clicked shut, and Ange returned to the back of the shop where she began buttoning her coat back up.

“You’re leaving?” Katie glanced at the dozen orders left.

“I have an early morning,” Ange said, wrapping an arm around Katie, and gave her friend a stern look. “Think about what we talked about.” When Katie said nothing she added, “Seriously, Katie, you need to start pursuing your dreams. It’s time to start living.”

“I am living.” Katie gestured to the shop.

“No, you’re not.” Ange let go and pulled her mittens on. “This is not living. This is called helping George when he can’t help himself.”

Ange left, and Katie listened for the _Crack!_ of her apparating before returning to her work. Forty-five minutes and twelve filled orders later, Katie tapped her wand against the control panel on the wall behind the back counter. The brightness of the shop dimmed to a low glow, and she pulled her coat and things from beneath the counter. Turning to leave through the backdoor, she paused and turned. The flyer still remained on the back counter, and Katie, against her better judgement, took it and folded it neatly. As she passed by the apartment stairwell, she paused and glanced up into the darkness.

“Goodnight, George.”

A shadowed figure with hands shoved into his pockets appeared at the top of the stairs and answered, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.

“You should go to the tryouts, Katie.”

 

* * *

 

 

_Darkness. There was only darkness and the memory of pain. It ached in her legs, in her side, in her fingers. In her ears, her heart pounded a rhythmic staccato that beat in her chest like a drum. Screaming surrounded her, resonating in her ears, as bright light flashed around her. Somewhere deep down, she knew the light to be deadly. A chaotic rush of action surrounded her and she realized it was impossible to tell friend from foe. Her wand wavered. The screaming continued and she realized it was coming from her._

_She looked down to see a necklace dangling from her fingers._

 

* * *

 

 

Katie poured a shaky cup of hot chocolate. The mere smell soothed her frayed nerves and worked to wipe the horrors of sleep from her mind. Her fingertips buzzed faintly, and she shook and wiped them on the soft cotton of her pajama pants. The sensation diminished slightly, and Katie picked up her mug of cocoa, moving into her living room.

Neuropathy. That was what the Healer had told her. The cursed necklace had damaged the nerves in her fingers, but the intermittent tingling and buzzing would eventually fade. They had faded until the final battle when Katie had been hit with a curse, reigniting the nerves in her fingers. She remembered the moment it had happened—the curse had been bright red and felt jagged .

She folded herself into the couch and set the mug down on the edge of the coffee table. Leaning forward, she surveyed the puzzle pieces laid out across the table and picked up a few. Half of the border was finished along with large sections of the middle. Tiny figures flew in and out of view, half of them wearing blue robes, the other half wearing black. A golden snitch zipped across one section and through another before hanging still for a moment. She had started the puzzle a few days before her decision to try out for the Magpies, and, now, the sight of the players sent a quiver of anxiety through her abdomen. She set the pieces back down and glanced at her front door.

Her broom—an old Firebolt from her Hogwarts years—leaned against the wall beside the door. Katie went and picked it up, running her hand over the sleek surface. She had spent the better part of the previous afternoon trimming the bristles and oiling the wood until it shone. Holding it, her heart pounded at what she was about to do tomorrow afternoon. Taking a deep breath, she sighed forcefully and returned her broom to the wall.

While it had been a few years since she’d played an official game of Quidditch, her life hadn’t been completely devoid of the game. Out of Hogwarts, Katie had joined a village league and played once or twice a week when she wasn’t helping George. Two weeks before the tryouts, Ange devoted several hours of her time helping Katie train in a field on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. George had even worked with her one day—granted, it was a day Ange was busy at work—hitting bludgers her way with a ferociousness that had her shouting her comparison of him to Oliver. George had taken it as a compliment.

A quarrelling mix of emotions bubbled in her stomach. She felt at once excited and nervous, as if she were approaching a cliff with the intent of jumping. Closing her eyes, she breathed in and out, trying to make each breath of equal length. The floor beneath her feet felt solid, reassuringly solid and able to support her. She imagined all the frenzied energy in her draining out through her feet and into the floorboards.

_Breathe in again._

_And once more out._

She opened her eyes, feeling decidedly more steady. Taking her mug of hot cocoa, she downed the rest of it and set the mug in the sink. Returning to her bedroom, she slid under the covers and extinguished all the lights with a wave of her wand and a whispered _Nox_.

And there Katie remained—awake with eyes open—as the clock cycled through all the early morning hours and the sky began lightening from black to dark blue.

 

* * *

 

 

Brechin Esk Stadium, home to the Montrose Magpies, was located just inland from Montrose Bay and far enough away from the center of town that it was nearly in the neighboring town of Kinnaber. Muggle repelling charms kept the non-magical folks from wandering too close, but that was generally unnecessary save for the occasional hiker and odd farmer trying to locate his lost herd of sheep.

Katie couldn’t count how many home games she had attended before and during Hogwarts with her father. However, being in the stadium now—not as a spectator but as a potential team member—sent an electrical jolt of excitement through her and set her heart on a sprinting frenzy. Above her in the stands, the Magpies’ banners, black and white with a magpie in the center, flapped noisily in the wind. She’d had one just like it spelled to the wall above her bed growing up and in her Hogwarts dormitory.

And now she stood where she had always dreamed of standing—down on the pitch, broom in hand. It was a cold day, a vicious wind whipping in from the nearby bay. Katie, thankful for the warming charm she’d remembered to cast on her clothing, waited with two dozen other Magpie-potentials for the tryouts to begin.

In front of Katie, two women—one tall and burly, the other thin as a broom and mousy—chatted comfortably with each other.

“All I’m saying is that it’s odd for a team to hold tryouts midseason.” The burly woman held her broom over her right shoulder. Katie could see _Firebolt 2000_ etched into the handle.

The mousy woman leaned over, eyes gleaming. “I heard their Chaser broke her contract and quit the team.”

“Not true. You don’t just up and quit the Magpies. They aren’t the most successful team in the league for nothing, you know?”

Katie leaned in slightly to their conversation. The bloke standing beside her grunted, and she glanced at him. He had a heavy set to his brow and what seemed like a perpetual glower—currently directed at the two women—that reminded Katie strongly of Marcus Flint. His gaze shifted to Katie, and she turned away, moving slightly away from him. The hair at the back of her neck stood on end.

“Alright! Gather ‘round and listen up.” Cormack McLeod, a Scottish man with broad shoulders beneath his black Magpies robes, strode onto the pitch, hands clasped behind his back. “I will explain how this will work only once. If you canna keep up, then you can get off my pitch.”

Katie, taking in a deep breath, turned to the Magpies’ manager with relief.

“If I call your name, you are to come with me. If I don’t, you’re with Hollister,” he said, indicating with a jab of his thumb the assistant manager standing off to the side with his arms crossed and a surly grimace on his face.

McLeod stared down at his clipboard and rattled off a dozen names in rapid, quick-fire succession. The two dozen potentials filtered off towards McLeod or Hollister, Katie joining the other eleven players with McLeod. She took note that the burly woman—Dorothy Osman, Katie remembered—joined her group while the mousy woman headed over to Hollister. Beside Katie stood Jared Finkleman, the Marcus Flint look-a-like, his hulking form towering over her like an overgrown troll.

“You lot, this way.” McLeod gestured to them and began walking to one end of the pitch.

Katie followed, and they were soon all up on their brooms. McLeod waved his hand, and a series of evenly spaced markers extended across half of the field.

“This is a ladder drill to test your speed, agility, and flying skills,” McLeod shouted, his voice magically amplified, while his hand pointed behind him. “If you’re not up to speed, consider yourself cut.”

Katie tensed as she waited for the whistle. When it sounded, she drew in close to her broom and took off. Osman pulled ahead of her right away, already turning at the first marker as Katie approached the flashing red light. As she spun around, she swerved out of the way to avoid a head-on collision with Finkleman, his lips pulled back to bare his teeth.

It continued as such through the first round—Osman slightly ahead as Finkleman rode on the tail of Katie’s broom—until halfway through the second round when Osman wobbled on her broom. Though a barely imperceptible wobble, it gave Katie enough of a chance to pull ahead. She glanced behind to see a hand belonging to Finkleman reach out as he leaned forward. Katie swung her hips to the side, her broom following and hitting him squarely in the shoulder.

She heard him grunt as she swung around and began the third round, quickly ducking down as she passed him. A hand grazed her shoulder but didn’t have enough grip to take hold as McLeod blew the whistle.

“You better watch yourself, Bell,” Finkleman growled as he passed by her.

Katie gave him nothing more than a cursory glance as she circled around McLeod with the rest of the players.

“You and you,” he said, pointing to a red-headed girl and a boy who looked barely old enough to be finished with Hogwarts. McLeod leaned to the side and indicated two more people.. “And you two. You’re all out.”

The four, heads hanging, headed back down to the pitch as McLeod returned his attention to the remaining eight. They formed a single file line at McLeod’s bellowed instruction. Katie made sure to place at least one other person between her and Finkleman. No longer moving, Katie noticed the biting wind as it nipped at her face. Osman queued up behind Katie.

“Finkleman’s got it out for you. What’d you do? Kill his owl?” she hissed in Katie’s ear.

Katie shook her head and shrugged. “I did nothing.”

“Well, watch yourself. I know his type. He sees you as a threat and will do anything to make sure you don’t get the position.”

“Me? A threat?” Katie shivered as the cold air found a way around her heating charms. She longed to be moving again.

“You’re faster than him,” Osman pointed out, “have better flying skills, and are more agile on your broom.”

Katie glanced at Osman, impressed at her assessment. “What about you? Do you think I’m a threat?”

“No,” was her short answer. Osman surveyed the other players. “Quidditch is all about working together as a team. Seeing you as a threat is counter-productive.”

“BELL! Quit lolly-gagging.”

Jerking around, Katie flew forward, McLeod watching her closely. A Quaffle was thrown her way from a floating magical bin off on the sidelines. Katie caught it easily one handed and chucked it at the far left goal hoop. A Chaser Trainer—an enchanted Keeper device designed to fly between the three hoops at random intervals—wove from the far right hoop to the left but didn’t make it in time and Katie scored a goal. Another Quaffle was sent her way, and Katie went up against the Chaser Trainer over and over again, only missing two goals out of ten.

Her fingers began to buzz faintly, distracting her. She dropped the last Quaffle, the red ball slipping through her fingers. Cursing quietly as anger bubbled up in her, she dropped into a dive and caught the Quaffle. She hugged it to her body as she turned upwards and raced back towards the hoops to send it flying towards the center hoop. The Chaser Trainer sensed her move and caught the Quaffle. Katie swore again.

“Bell, nice dedication.” McLeod nodded her way before calling the next name. “Yates. You’re up.”

She rubbed her fingers against her legs absently as she flew to the end of the line and watched the rest of the players have their turn. Two rounds of the Chaser Trainer later and McLeod cut two more, leaving six people remaining—Katie, Osman, and Finkleman included.

They returned to the ground where Hollister’s group of six waited for them—the mousy woman not present. Katie landed effortlessly and noted, with pleasure, the surge of energy coursing through her. A smile grew across her face as McLeod explained the second phase of tryouts.

“Congratulations. You twelve have survived phase one. Phase two is about working together as a team. You will be divided into teams of three.” He began pointing and directing people into small groups.

Katie was placed in a group with two players from Hollister’s group, a tall young man, with stunningly bright blue eyes and long hair pulled back at the nape of his neck, and a lithe girl with her hair cut short.

“Katie Bell.” She stuck out her hand.

“Edgar White,” the blue-eyed boy said, smiling but not taking her hand.

The girl grabbed Katie’s hand and shook it firmly, her eyes darting to Katie before returning to McLeod with steady focus. “Tess. It’s a pleasure.”

They waited on the ground as two groups of three launched in the air and began a series of drills requiring them to work together as a team. McLeod and Hollister surveyed the two groups, gesturing back and forth and even arguing at one point. Two more people were cut, McLeod shouting down to the pitch that Chesterfield and Finkleman were to replace them.

By the time Katie’s group was up in the air, only six people remained. Hollister tapped her group on the back with his wand, their shirt’s turning red while the opposing three—Finkleman, Osman, and Chesterfield—were black.

“We’re treating this like a mock game, black against red. Line up across from each other,” McLeod instructed.

Katie positioned herself between Tess and Edgar, Finkleman taking the spot across from her. He leered at her, and Katie sent him a steely glare. Hollister, Quaffle in hand, hovered slightly beneath them. With the whistle’s screech, Hollister tossed the Quaffle up. Finkleman lunged forward and immediately crashed into Katie as he scrambled for the red ball. The impact was jarring, but she was ready, having ducked her head so her shoulder would take the majority of the impact.

Finkleman, however, had misjudged the impact. His hold on the Quaffle loosened, and Katie stole it from his grasp. She swerved right and pulled up, casting her gaze out to spot Edgar three broom-lengths away. Osman moved to intercept as Katie threw the Quaffle but missed as the ball arced just out her reach. Edgar caught the Quaffle, and Katie dodged Finkleman as she moved further up the pitch to position herself.

Edgar passed the Quaffle back to Katie, and Katie sent it on to Tess, who scored. Katie pumped her fist in the air twice before rounding back. They continued, Katie’s team scoring twice more against Osman’s two goals, until McLeod shouted up that Finkleman and Tess were to trade places. Edgar met Katie’s eyes and grimaced. She laughed and lined up in the center of the pitch.

Osman caught the Quaffle and dipped down below Finkleman. Katie took off after Osman. Something screamed by her ear, and Katie startled. A bludger—McLeod releasing one— raced after Osman, and just as it was to crash into her hip, she swooped out of the way and threw the Quaffle. Edgar intercepted the attempted goal and made a long pass to Katie. Finkleman was immediately at her side, reaching for the Quaffle.

“Give me the Quaffle, Bell.” He grabbed the ball, and Katie, surprised, let him have it.

Quaffle under his arm, he took off down the pitch. Edgar kept pace with him, avoiding Chesterfield’s attempts at blocking him. Chesterfield, relentless in his attempts to interfere with Edgar’s flying, eventually forced Edgar off course. The bludger flew figure eights through the mock game, smashing into brooms and glancing off limbs. Finkleman chucked the ball into the middle hoop and missed. He cursed loudly.

“I’ll not have tha’ language on my pitch, Finkleman.” McLeod’s face reddened as he shouted.

Finkleman made a rude gesture behind McLeod’s back as Osman reclaimed the Quaffle. Osman’s team scored three more times before Katie got her hands on the Quaffle. Hugging it to her body, she darted around Osman but was unable to overcome Chesterfield’s blocking. Glancing to her left and right, seeing neither Edgar or Finkleman, Katie took a chance and let gravity drop her two metres down. Her stomach lifted into her throat, and she distantly heard McLeod shouting from down on the pitch. Out of Chesterfield’s way, she spotted Edgar and passed to him who sent the Quaffle to Finkleman. He tried to keep the ball to himself, but Osman—having considered his rude attitude an insult to the entire group—followed close on his tail, forcing Finkleman to pass back to Katie.

Katie took the Quaffle and quickly passed it to Edgar, the two of them sending it in quick passes down the field as they avoided Osman and Tess’ pursuit. As Katie approached the goal hoops, Edgar passed her the ball, looping it around Chesterfield and back into Katie’s hands. Just as she was about to make the goal, a bludger glanced off the side of her head, her vision filling with flashes of light.

A whistle was blown, and McLeod screamed angrily.

“FINKLEMAN! You’re out!”

Finkleman landed on the pitch and threw his broom down. “This is a bloody—”

McLeod pushed his face into Finkleman’s personal space. “This drill was about working as a team. Using your broom as a bat to send a bludger into your teammate’s head does not constitute teamwork. You failed, Finkleman.” He pointed to the changing room. “Get dressed and get out.”

Katie touched down and pressed a hand against the side of her head, just above her ear. She shook her head to clear her vision.

“Bell, Osman, and White. You three stay behind and wait outside the changing room for our decision,” McLeod said as Finkleman sulked back to the changing room. “The rest of you, I’m sorry, but you’re out.” He turned his attention to Katie. “Bell. I want a Healer to check you out.”

They returned to the changing room. A woman wearing the white robes that denoted a Healer waited outside the door and beckoned to Katie.

“Katie Bell?”

She nodded.

“I’m Healer Jackson. Please, come with me.” She turned and began walking down the hall but stopped when Katie didn’t follow.

“I’m fine, really,” Katie said. The throbbing in her head had faded, and her vision had cleared.

“Head injuries are nothing trivial,” Healer Jackson said, her words clipped and professional. “If you’re fine, then it’ll be a quick in-and-out check.” She gestured down the hallway. “This way please.”

Katie followed her into a small room and sat down on a table which the healer had indicated with her hand. Healer Jackson, checking something on a clipboard on a side table, turned and faced Katie.

“What is your name?”

“Katie Bell.”

The Healer nodded, satisfied with her answer. “Do you know where you are?”

Katie suppressed the urge to laugh. “Yes,” she answered and added, when the Healer continued to stare at her, “Brechin Esk Stadium. Quidditch tryouts.”

A pleased smile formed on the Healer’s face. “What is the date?”

Answering, Katie couldn’t hold back a laugh as the healer muttered something about being alert and oriented while scribbling on the clipboard with a self-inking quill. Once finished, she placed her hands on Katie’s head, pressing in a few places. Katie winced as her fingers found the place where the bludger had glanced off her. Muttering an apology, the Healer tapped Katie’s head with her wand.

A pale, yellow light appeared over Katie’s head, listing various pieces of information. Scrolling through the information, the healer nodded and canceled the spell.

“No concussion.” A small crease formed between Healer Jackson’s eyebrows. “You do have some old neurological scarring in your history.”

A hard lump formed in Katie’s throat, and she struggled to swallow. “The war,” was all she managed to say.

The Healer’s clipped and professional demeanor slipped slightly as she nodded with understanding. “I see a lot of that these days.”

“That—that isn’t going to—”

“Impact your ability to play Quidditch?” The Healer said.

Katie nodded.

“Do you get any numbness, burning or tingling in your fingers or hands?”

“No.” The lie hung heavily between Katie and the Healer.

The Healer smiled. “Then you should be fine.”

Relieved, Katie slid off the table. “I’m okay to go, then?”

“Yes. Please wait outside the changing room while a decision is made.”

 

* * *

 

Katie pounded on Ange’s door as she bounced lightly on the balls of her feet. It was well after four in the afternoon, and Katie knew Ange should be home. A ball of excitement and frenzied disbelief made her legs feel like they’d been hit with a Jelly-Legs Jinx—though that could have been the three hours spent flying.

“Ange! I know you’re home.” Her fist pummeled against her friend’s front door, but she got no answer.

Knocking twice more, the second one causing Ange’s elderly neighbor down the hall to poke her head into the hallway, Katie gave up and disapparated to Alicia’s flat. Alicia answered the door on the second knock.

“Katie?” she asked, opening the door a crack. Her eyes were red, and shadows hung beneath them, but she smiled to see her friend. “What are you doing here?”

“Guess who is the Montrose Magpies’ newest Chaser?”

“I know Reiner quit.” Alicia arched her eyebrows. “Are you going to make me guess, then?”

“You’re looking at her.” Katie threw her arms out as if placing herself on display.

Alicia shook her head and stepped out into the corridor, closing her door. “What? You’re what?”

“I tried out for the Magpies this afternoon.”

Her friend adopted the same look she would get when Oliver made them run lap after lap during their years on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. It was the same look one would give someone when they thought they were kidding and more than a little barmy.

“You did what?”

“I tried out for—”

“Yes, yes.” Alicia flapped her hand. “I got that part.” She stood in the hall in her pajamas, shaking her head, mouth open. “I don’t believe it.”

“I know, right?” Katie dropped her eyes to the cotton pants and shirt Alicia wore. “Are you still in your pajamas?

“I was sleeping.”

“It’s the middle of the day.”

Alicia looked away and shrugged. “I was tired.”

Katie studied her friend critically. “You okay?”

“Fine.” Alicia smiled.

“You’re sure?”

Alicia’s smile deepened. “I’m fine.”

“Well, get dressed.” She took Alicia by the shoulders and hugged her tight. “We have to celebrate.”

“I don’t—”

“But first I have to tell my mum and dad.”

Katie spun and disapparated with a _crack_.


	2. Chapter Two

**February**

 

_ “I’m gonna fly like a bird through the night.” - Chandelier by Sia _

 

McLeod blew his whistle and circled around his three Chasers. “Again, you three. I want a nice close weave and a shallow cross—and none of that wibble wobble shite from you Bell.”

It was a frigid February morning, despite the bright sun, and sweat trickled down Katie’s spine. Her body was an unpleasant cross between nearly-frozen where her clothing didn’t cover and overheated where it did. The Quaffle was thrown her way. She caught it as she circled around to the other end of the pitch with the two other Chasers.

The coach hollered down the pitch where Chase McNeil, Keeper-extraordinaire and Magpie golden boy, hovered in front of the three hoops. Chase and McLeod volleyed strategy back and forth before McLeod turned back to the three Chasers.

“I want Bell passing to Haver, and I want it done bloody right even if it takes until you three are falling off your blasted brooms.” He flicked a glance down the pitch where Hollister was coordinating practice with the rest of the team.

“Something’s got his knickers in a twist.” McKenna Haver—a lithe, redheaded woman with her hair pulled into a loose French braid—sent McLeod a dirty look.

A young man with black, curly hair cut short flew into position on Katie’s left. “We’re talking about knickers, now?” He leered at McKenna. “Are they your knickers?”

McKenna set her jaw. “Fuck you, Maddock.”

McLeod flew over and pointed a finger at McKenna, whistle hanging out the side of his mouth. “I heard that Haver.”

“You heard nothing.” Haver flashed her middle finger McLeod’s way once his back was turned and leaned over to throw a punch at the black-haired man still grinning madly at her.

Maddock dodged the punch and laughed. “You have to try harder than that, McKenna.”

The first thing Katie learned as a Chaser for the Montrose Magpies was that Alasdair Maddock and McKenna Haver fought with the bitterness of long-standing rivals. In fact, on Katie’s first day, she had walked in on one of their famous screaming matches and had a set of leg guards accidentally thrown in her face. McKenna had stormed off, leaving Alasdair with the task of apologizing. The red-headed woman had returned a moment later after realizing—to her visible horror—that she’d thrown her leg guards at Katie. When not in close proximity to each other off the pitch, they were amicable and easy-going. Together, they were a cauldron ready to blow.

The more Katie got to know them, the more she began to suspect that their animosity was not just a product of two bull-headed people ramming their personalities together. It wasn’t anything Katie could pinpoint beyond a coloring of McKenna’s cheeks when Alasdair wasn’t looking and the way Katie sometimes caught him watching McKenna.

McLeod blew his whistle.

Katie took off, Quaffle tucked under her arm. She kept her eye on McKenna as she and Maddock crossed in front of Katie. McKenna glanced at Katie. Katie passed her the Quaffle before repositioning. They continued down the pitch, their movements tightly spun and coordinated. 

A Chaser never acted individually; they were a unit and needed to act as one. Oliver Wood had drilled that into Katie, Alicia, and Ange’s heads from day one. Despite Oliver’s penchant for repeating himself, and Katie tending to ignore him when he sounded like a malfunctioning parrot, the three girls had flown like extensions of each other. They had even gone so far as to have the eerie ability to sense the other’s positions on the pitch and pass the Quaffle without looking. This particular talent, along with the fact that the three Gryffindor girls had been joined at the hip, had earned them the moniker Triple Threat—which Fred and George had modified to Triplet Threat, resulting in an endless string of twin and triplet jokes.

McKenna and Alasdair did not just fly as a unit; they flew together as one organism with one mind and one body, despite seemingly hating each other. The second thing Katie learned about being a Magpie Chaser was that the more heated their argument was on the ground, the better they flew together up in the air. Stepping into an already established Chaser team, especially mid-season, was a challenge for anyone. Fitting herself into what McKenna and Alasdair had created had been nearly impossible.

McLeod amplified his voice after blowing his whistle. “Tha’ was better, Bell, but I bloody well told ya’ to stop wobbling around like a Muggleborn Firstie.”

Katie spun around on her broom.

“Don’t even think about giving me attitude Bell,” he shouted. “Again, you three.” He chucked the red ball to Katie.

“Ah, don’t let him get under your skin, love.” McKenna slung an arm over Katie’s shoulders. “He’s just pissy because you’re doing better than he’d expected.”

Katie laughed incredulously. “This is him pleased? I’d hate to see him angry.”

“It’s actually quite the same.” Alasdair flew past and repositioned himself. “His moods are nearly as volatile as dear Kenna’s”

“Don’t call me that.”

He flashed her a cheeky grin. “Call you what, dear?”

McKenna licked her lips and ignored Alasdair. The whistle sounded again, high and shrill over the growing wind. While the day had started out sunny with hardly any wind, a gust had picked up over Montrose Bay, adding extra resistance to Katie’s flying. Again and again, McLeod had them repeat the drill until Katie was nearly falling off her broom and McKenna had—accidentally, she had sworn—flown straight into Alasdair’s back. Just for good measure, McLeod made them repeat the drill twice more before allowing them a five minute water break.

Katie’s legs wobbled as she touched down on the ground. Broom in hand, she flopped down on the side of the pitch and downed half her water in one go.

“You looked good up there, Bell.” McNeil winked at Katie as he sat down beside her. He leaned back on his hands and regarded her intently, legs stretched out and ankles crossed.

A wide smile spread across Katie’s face, and a bubble of elation rose in her chest. “Thank you,” she said, tossing her water bottle among the pile of gear behind them.

“Really.” He leaned in slightly towards her. “I’m impressed.” 

Chase McNeil’s grinning face had been featured on the front cover of countless  _ Quidditch Weekly _ issues for his effortless blocking maneuvers and  _ Witch Weekly _ for his boyish charm. Ange, Alicia, and Katie had spent many hours during their Hogwarts years up in the dormitories, clustered together with the curtains drawn, pouring over the articles and photos of Chase. He had been Ange’s first crush and the face she had tacked to the wall beside her bed at Hogwarts.

“I think I’m doing an okay job,” Katie said.

“No, really. Working your way into what McKenna and Alasdair have up there is no easy task. You have a real eye for figuring out the Chaser relationship and fitting yourself into it.”

“Is this buffoon bothering you?” McKenna glared at Chase and kicked his leg lightly. Any contempt she may have had on her face from earlier faded in front of Chase.

Chase pointed at himself. “Who, me?”

“Yeah, you, you baboon.” A laugh burst from McKenna’s chest. “Who else would I be talking about?” 

He feigned injury, a hand coming to his chest. “You offend me.” His eyes flicked to Alasdair. “I’m sure you were meaning our dear Alasdair over there.”

McKenna’s face darkened as she turned to where the Chaser was bouncing the Quaffle off his knees like a football. “I don’t want to talk about him.” She grabbed Chase’s hands and pulled him to his feet.

“Maddock!” McLeod strode across the pitch with the rest of the Magpies—two burly women with bushy, brown hair following behind a thin, blond woman.

Alasdair caught the Quaffle, tucked it under his arm, and turned to the coach with a grin. “Oh Captain, my Captain.”

McLeod’s irritation simmered just beneath the surface. “Quit screwing around.” He let his gaze linger on Alasdair’s stupid grin before pulling out a clipboard and engaging himself in conversation with Hollister.

“‘Lo Bell,” two voices said simultaneously.

With Beater bats tucked beneath their arms, the Bates sisters—often mistaken for twins despite Darlene being two years older than Shirlene—clapped Katie forcefully on the shoulder.

“You having fun yet?” Darlene asked, her smile friendly despite the heaviness of her hand on Katie’s shoulder.

“Oi, you lot.” McLeod pointed with his clipboard. “Get running. I want ten laps.”

Katie smiled at Darlene. “Oh, cauldrons of fun.” She started a slow jog down the pitch but stopped when McLeod bellowed her name.

“BELL! Five extra laps for you—and don’t give me that look. I saw you drop the Quaffle earlier this morning; so, you get to run extra today.”

Shirlene nudged her elbow in Katie’s ribs. “See, the fun is just getting started.”

Grumbling to herself, Katie picked up her pace. Shirlene trotted on ahead to run with her sister, who had positioned herself conveniently between Alasdair and McKenna as they began arguing. Katie pulled ahead of the Bates sisters as they chastised Alasdair and McKenna with the shame-inducing tone of a mother. Far ahead, Chase loped easily down the field, only outpaced by Hannah Gregory, the Magpie’s Seeker.

As Katie closed the distance between her and Chase, he sped up, playful mirth in his eyes as he glanced back at her. Never one to let a challenge go, she enjoyed the burn in her legs as she sprinted ahead.

“So, that’s how it’s going to be, huh?” Chase’s feet made barely a sound on the snow covered grass. He ran with an ease and grace that stirred up jealousy in Katie’s heart. “I like a challenge, Bell.”

“A challenge wanted is a challenge had.” She flashed him her best cheeky smile.

 

oOo

 

Nearly an hour later, Katie collapsed on the benches in the changing room with the rest of the team. Behind them, the reserve team filed in and stood against the back wall. Katie twisted around and waved at Edgar White. While Edgar had the aggressiveness, flying skills, and Quaffle handling abilities McLeod looked for, Katie’s had that in addition to the speed and determination McLeod demanded from his Chasers.

“Right, you lot,” McLeod said, entering the changing room. He held a clipboard in one hand. “Listen up—Maddock, put the bloody Quaffle down.”

Alasdair, who had busied himself by bouncing the ball like it was a basketball, grinned at his coach and chucked the ball into his open locker. The Quaffle bounced off the edge of the locker door. Katie dodged out of the way.

McKenna reached out, and grabbed it before it could collide with her head. “Watch it, you great oaf!” She made to throw the ball at Alasdair’s head but changed her mind at the last minute, holding onto the ball instead.

Alasdair made a grab for the Quaffle. McKenna pushed him away with her foot. Chase reached across and took the ball with a victorious smirk at McKenna and Alasdair.

Beside Katie, Hannah grumbled. “Idiots.” The small, wiry Seeker slid a glance at Katie, judging her reaction.

Katie smiled at her and shook her head as Edgar chuckled quietly. The rest of the reserve team watched on with amusement, well-accustomed to their fooling around.

McLeod threw his clipboard down. “Tha’ is enough. Are ye’ a professional Quidditch team or not? I have half a mind to send the lot of you back out to run laps.”

The half of her team that still acted like they belonged in Hogwarts settled down. McLeod tapped his wand against the wall, and blocky text scrolled across the wall.

He eyed his team, daring them to step one toe out of line. “We have a match against Puddlemere in the coming week.” He gestured to the outlined strategy on the wall. “So, shut your gobs and pay attention.”

 

oOo

 

Diagon Alley, destroyed by Death Eaters, was healing after the war. Nine months after the final battle, life had begun to creep back into the wizarding world. Gringotts had begun making transactions, Quality Quidditch Supplies had rebuilt and restocked their shelves, and Madam Malkins had reopened in time to take limited Hogwarts robe orders. However, healing took time. While many shop owners had begun the process of picking up the rubble, just as many had abandoned their stores. Obscurus Books remained a blasted hole next to the second-hand robe store, Magical Menagerie’s windows were boarded up, and Ollivanders stood dark and empty.

Before the war, Katie and her friends had made the habit of meeting once a month at Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour. Florean had doted on the group, offering them free samples of new ice cream creations and making jokes with Fred and George. After the war—Florean dead and his ice cream parlour in ruins—his daughter had stepped up to rebuild with the intent of bringing a little joy to a broken world. While Katie did not remember Flora Fortescue from school—Katie had started a year after Flora graduated—the rest of her friends remembered the bubbly Hufflepuff with fondness. Flora, wanting to continue her father’s legacy, had rebuilt the shop exactly as it once had been—from the bright colors to the large, charmed ice cream cone out front. 

Days before her first professional Quidditch match, Katie pulled open the door, her senses met with the bright interior and the sweet scent of ice cream. Ange sat in the back corner on her own. At one point in time, she would have been surrounded by Alicia and the twins—and on the rare occasion, Oliver. Now, she sat alone.

“Is it just you and me, then?” Katie sat down hard in the chair across from Ange.

McLeod had become a Quidditch dictator over the past few days, his Scottish burr deepening as he pushed Katie and the rest of the team to the ends of human endurance. Each day after practice, Katie would drag herself home through the Floo network, not trusting herself to apparate. Her body ached, and the minty smell of McBrough’s Muscle Balm had started to become her new signature scent.

“Alicia’s ditching us—again—and I don’t even want to talk about George.” The beads at the ends of Ange’s braids, pulled into a high ponytail, clinked as she shook her head. Katie noted her friend’s drawn features along with the whiteness of her knuckles as she clenched her fingers. “Years of friendship, and he won’t even talk to me.”

Flora, in the spirit of Valentine’s Day, had filled the ice cream parlour with tiny, flying cupids, complete with miniature arrows and hearts. One such cupid flew between Katie and Ange, dipping and diving, his long eyelashes fluttering. A shower of hearts and glitter followed him, coating the table in a shimmer. He aimed his bow, drawing the string back.

Katie leaned out of the way of the incoming arrow. “I wish there was something I could do.”

Ange bared her teeth, swatting at the cupid. “Give me a Beater’s bat, and I’ll figure it out.” The tiny figure darted out of the way but not before launching his arrow. It landed in Ange’s hair.

Katie shoved Ange’s shoulder, laughing. “Ange!”

“What?” Ange swept her hands through her braided hair. “There’s a lot to be said for relieving your frustrations in a little physical violence.” She found the arrow and chucked it to the floor. Relieved of its magic, the arrow and the surrounding hearts and glitter dissolved.

“Who’s getting violent?” Flora—brown, curly hair pulled back by a yellow scarf that matched her yellow apron—grinned at Ange as she slid into the booth beside the other girl. “Certainly not my Angelina Bambelina,” she said, wrapping an arm around Ange, giving her an affectionate squeeze. “She wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

The cupid found it’s way back to their table and made loop-de-loops around Ange’s head. Flora watched the charmed figure, her lips pressed together to keep from laughing.

Ange ground her teeth together. “Get that thing away from me.”

Relenting to her friend’s distress, Flora tapped the cupid with her wand and gave Ange an apologetic grin. “Would free samples help?” She half-stood from the booth and  _ accioed _ two small bowls from behind the main counter where Jeff, her full-time help, was managing the short line of customers. The two bowls  _ plonked _ down on the table. “I found the recipe in a cabinet downstairs buried beneath a pile of old receipts. Rum raisin with a touch of magic.” She grinned proudly. “I think it was Granddad’s recipe.”

Never one to forego free samples, Katie dug in. She had a special place in her heart for rum raisin ice cream—it was, in fact, a place reserved specially for ice cream of any flavor. She smiled at Flora. “Arr, this be some fine ice cream.” Her eyes widened, and she slapped a hand over her mouth.

Across from her, Ange—spoon in mouth—froze and slowly turned to Flora. “Ye scurvy landlubber.” The look in Ange’s eyes was half-way threatening. “Just ye wait til I get me hands round your scrawny neck.”

“Did I mention my granddad was a notorious prankster?” Flora grinned, pleased with the results. “The effects last a good five minutes.”

Ange grumbled but was unable to keep the smile from tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Leaning in towards the other girl, Flora cupped her hand around her ear. “What was that Ange? I couldn’t hear you.”

Pressing her lips together, Ange refused to speak, but the glare in her eyes had softened and amusement began to show in her eyes. The girls were occupied for a time after that, eating ice cream and seeing who could say the most outlandish thing in pirate-speak. When they were finished, Flora declared the new flavor a success and took their bowls She disappeared back into the kitchen, leaving Katie and Ange on their own again.

“Right, now it’s time to talk about you,” Ange said, downing the rest of her lemonade. She pushed the glass to the edge of the table.

Katie crossed one foot onto her opposite knee. “Me? There’s nothing new to talk about.” A smile tugged at her lips, but she kept it contained. “I’m still just boring, old Katie Bell.”

Ange scoffed. “Nothing new, and she claims to be boring, says the Magpie’s newest Chaser.” She gestured at Katie. “Katie Bell, Quidditch star extraordinaire.”

“I’m not a star,” Katie said, poking her straw through the remains of her butterbeer.

“Yet.”

“I haven’t even played my first match.”

“Yeah, but you’ve had lots of practice time…” Ange leaned forward, waggling her eyebrows. “...practice time with one Chase McNeil.”

Katie laughed, the sound nearly a snort.

The grin on Ange’s face widened. “Is he as nice to look at up close as he is in  _ Witch Weekly _ ?” She grabbed Katie’s hands with the eagerness of a schoolgirl. “Tell me everything.”

Glancing around at the people sitting at the tables around them, Katie hesitated. Chase, despite being the Golden Boy of the Magpies and the most sought after player for interviews and photo opportunities, tended to avoid reporters. In fact, the majority of the team—with the exception of Alasdair—had a penchant for their own privacy. The other night when McLeod took the team out to dinner—their traditional pre-match ‘Cram as much food into your stomach on McLeod’s galleon’ meal—they had been accosted by a small group of fans. Spending just enough time signing autographs and taking pictures to be polite, they had departed except for Alasdair who had stayed behind, posing and blowing kisses at the girls.

Ange tugged on Katie’s hands. “Come on, Katie. Give me at least  _ something _ .”

“Alright,” she said, leaning in so she could whisper and not be overheard. “He is even nicer looking in person and super friendly.”

“And?”

Katie pulled Ange closer to her until they were nose-to-nose. “And if you tell anybody, I’ll cut your braids off.”

“Now who’s getting violent?” Ange laughed as Katie released her.

“I’m not violent; you’re the violent one.” Katie picked up her glass and fiddled with the straw. “I’m just physically suggestive.”

Ange snorted, leaning back and folding her arms. “Alright,” she said. “Then let’s talk about Oliver Wood.”

Katie, having busied herself by noisily drinking the very last of her butterbeer, sputtered and coughed. “Excuse me?”

Amused at her friend’s discomfort, Ange smirked. “Yes, Oliver Wood.”

“Why would we talk about Oliver Wood?”

“Don’t you have a match in a few days?” Ange asked.

“Yeah.” Katie’s face remained blank.

“Against Puddlemere?”

Katie blinked. “Uh huh.”

“And who is Puddlemere’s Keeper?”

The glass in Katie’s hand  _ plunked _ down onto the table. “Well, fuck me.”

Her life had been so consumed with everything to do with Quidditch and being a part of the Magpies that it had completely surpassed her that she would be playing her first professional Quidditch match against Oliver Wood. She hadn’t seen Oliver since shortly after the war, and it had been years since she’d played Quidditch with him—and technically she had never played  _ against  _ Oliver save for mock-up games during practice. Something inside her twisted.

“Oh, Katie.” Something passing for sympathy mixed with amusement crossed Ange’s face. “You really do still have feelings for him, don’t you?”

Katie tried to look at her friend but couldn’t. “I do not.”

“It’s written all over your face.”

Running both hands down her face, Katie grumbled. “It’s been years since I’ve even really thought about him that way.”

Ange grinned. It was an age-old discussion between the two of them—the state of Katie’s feelings for Oliver—and it brought a satisfying touch of nostalgia. “Well, you obviously have some feelings for him.”

Katie dropped her head into her arms. “No.” 

Their last few years at Hogwarts before Ange and Alicia graduated had been dominated by her feelings for Oliver. Ange loved to pick her emotions apart, analyzing them from multiple angles while studying Oliver’s behavior. It had been a favorite pastime of theirs and still was. But Katie was no longer at Hogwarts, and Oliver was no longer just her Quidditch Captain.

 

oOo

 

“Welcome to Bodmin Moor Millenium Stadium! It’s a beautiful night if you fancy a bit of a nip in the air, and I’ve been promised clear skies and not a flake of snow for tonight’s match between the Montrose Magpies and Puddlemere United—”

A burst of shouts, screams, and foot-stomping went through the stadium like a charging wave. Katie stood just inside the exit tunnel for the Magpies. She clutched her broom as her heart pounded in time to the thundering of the spectators. Focusing her breathing, she closed her eyes, willing her jittery insides to calm down.

“The name’s Quincy and this old chap sitting next to me is my fellow announcer, Malloy. He’s a good man, despite being a Puddles fan—”

There was a brief, echoing sound of a scuffle before another voice boomed through the stadium. “Puddles rule, Magpies drool!” Half of the stadium cheered while the other half booed their displeasure.

“Oh, we drool, do we?” Quincy said. “Need I remind you who has won the League Cup thirty-two times?”

“Two of which were on questionable grounds.”

“Questionable my arse, you twat!”

“I’m a twat, am I?”

The commentary descended into a volley of insults and low-grade hexes. Each half of the stadium roared in time with the curses and jinks. Katie, pulled from her quiet place, frowned and craned her neck to see out onto the pitch.

“They’ll go on for a while,” McNeil said in her ear, one hand resting on her right shoulder. “It once went on for twenty minutes.”

His close proximity to her made Katie’s skin tingle. She glanced at him briefly. “Shouldn’t one of the officials do something?”

McKenna leaned over. “The last time that happened, Henrick Tibbins spent the match with rabbit ears and a tail. I heard he had to go to St. Mungo’s to get them removed.”

“No, it was the third eye that he had to go to St. Mungo’s for,” McNeil said. He nudged his shoulder against Katie’s. “I hear if you look closely enough you can still see a faint outline of the eye on his forehead.”

Katie smiled. “That’s terrible.”

“Terribly funny.”

At the entrance to the pitch, McLeod paced back and forth, muttering to himself. By the time someone had gotten Quincy and Malloy back under control—the two men being sent to opposite ends of the stadium to do their announcing—McLeod was a rumbling ball of impatience. 

“And now, without any more shenanigans,” Malloy said, “I give you Puddlemere United!”

McLeod threw his arms into the air. “About bloody time!”

A resounding rendition of  _ Beat Back Those Bludgers, Boys, and Chuck That Quaffle Here _ was broadcast over the magical sound system. Puddlemere fans in the stands activated their noise-makers, buzzing and whirring accompanying their team’s entrance.

“Let’s hear it for Zan! Henders! Manor! Chrisley!” Each name announced was punctuated by a roar. “Jasper! Williams! Aaaaand Wood!” 

Katie’s heart jumped, and she tensed her shoulders. Flyers in blue robes circled the pitch as their fans screamed. She was here, and this was really happening. There was no turning back. Buzzing crawled up the outside of her right hand, and she shook it out, trying to focus her breathing again.

The raucous cheering on the pitch shifted, Puddlemere’s theme song fading as the Magpie fans began stomping their feet and clapping in time with each other. A chant began in one corner of the stands and spread through the stadium, pounding like a heartbeat.

“Thirty-two! Thirty-two! Thirty-two!”

It was a taunt, a challenge to the other team. The Magpies had won the League Cup no less than thirty-two times, and the fans reveled in that fact.

“It’s now my greatest pleasure to introduce the Montrose Magpies!” Quincy’s voice was followed by renewed fanfare. Katie and her team mounted their brooms. “Raise your wands for McNeil! Maddock! Haver! Gregory!” The noise in the stadium grew as each of her teammates flew out onto the pitch, their black robes billowing behind them. “The Bates sisters! And, making her debut, the Magpies’ newest Chaser, Katie Bell!” 

The fans went wild as Katie flew onto the pitch. The air was cold and crisp and the night sky clear. She circled around the goal hoops and joined her team down on the ground as McLeod gave them his version of a pep-talk. Katie half-listened, her eyes drawing across the pitch to where Puddlemere stood and, as if by instinct, coming to rest on on a familiar figure. His head was bowed, and he seemed to grip his broom like it was the only thing that mattered. Katie recognized the tell-tale, pre-match Oliver Wood stance.

“Oi! What was that, McNeil?”

Katie looked up. McLeod’ eyes were trained on his Keeper with near murderous intent.

“I said, if you’re not careful, you’ll give yourself a bald spot,” McNeil said.

The other man stopped his pacing and jabbed a finger. “That’s enough from you, McNeil.” He then rounded on Alasdair. “And you!”

Alasdair looked up, eyes wide and a faint smile on his face.

“I want no funny business.” He pushed a finger into Alasdair’s chest. “I mean it, Maddock.”

The referee blew his whistle, the sound high and shrill over the roaring fans. The Magpies flew out and took their positions opposite Puddlemere.

“Alright, you lot,” the referee said, holding his whistle to his lips. “I want a good, clean match.”

Katie’s body tensed, and time slowed down. Holding up his hand, the referee blew the whistle. Time realigned itself in a sharp jump of action.

“PUDDLEMERE gets the Quaffle! And they’re off! Manor to Henders and back to Manor.” Malloy’s voice screamed, straining to be heard over the roaring Puddlemere fans. “Henders—Zan—Henders—”

Quincy intercepted as the Quaffle was passed. “Oh, what is this? Haver gets the Quaffle, passes it to Maddock, from Maddock to Bell to—”

The stands were packed with Puddlemere and Magpie fans, and Katie knew, somewhere in the melee, her father was there. She let all of the noise fall away and focused solely on the match. Her mind settled into what Angelina and Alicia had termed Katie’s Quidditch Zombie-mode. Nothing existed beyond the pitch, and there was nothing more important than what she was doing right then. 

Puddlemere scored first, followed by a heart-stopping dive by their Seeker on the far end of the pitch. Both teams seemed to pause, eyes watching Peter Williams as he hurtled to the ground. Only when he came up empty-handed did the eerie silence that had descended over the stadium lift. 

Alasdair and McKenna scored twice for the Magpies before Katie got her hands on the Quaffle. Dodging a Bludger and Puddlemere’s Chasers, she spiraled to the left, eyes on the goal hoops.  _ Eyes on the prize, Katie _ , Oliver had once told her when she was in her second year and new to the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Somewhere deep in her mind, the irony of her current situation registered. Oliver now guarded the prize. 

Katie feinted right, then left. Oliver’s face remained passive. His eyes never left her, watching and waiting. She passed to Maddock. He lobbed the ball back to her in a wide, arched pass. Circling around the goals, Katie made to chuck the ball into the middle one but changed her mind at the last minute and aimed for the far hoop. Oliver, however, was quicker and blocked her shot. Pulling back around, she glanced at him. He met her eyes and raised his eyebrows in triumph before tossing the ball up and smacking it back into play with the tail-end of his broom.

While the Magpies were currently on the top rung of the league’s ladder, Puddlemere United was by no means a team to take lightly. If there was one team in the league that McLeod considered their largest threat, it was Puddlemere. 

“I know what all of ye are thinkin’ right now,” McLeod had told them the day before. “We have thirty-two league championships under our belts and are first rung on the ladder. I don’t have to take Puddlemere seriously. NO! Tha’ is not the right frame of mind.” Their coach had descended into an hour’s lecture on the merits and virtues of Puddlemere United, shouting at Maddock when he’d stood up to visit the loo.

Nearly halfway through the match, the score remained tied. As soon as the Magpies scored, Puddlemere followed up to keep the numbers even. It was a tug-o-war between the two teams, neither getting further ahead than by one goal. 

“Oi, Bell!” 

Katie turned to McKenna, caught the Quaffle, and crashed headlong into the back of Lukas Zan, Puddlemere’s Chaser. Their legs became entangled. Gripping the ball tightly, Katie pushed at the tall, wiry man. A tug on the ball had it flying from her hands. With a shout, she flew after Zan. He was fast and agile, but Katie was faster. She intercepted his pass and dodged around the Bates sisters as they directed a Bludger at Puddlemere’s Seeker. 

Her finger began to tingle, going numb and clumsy. Inwardly swearing, she fumbled with the Quaffle, and it dropped from her grasp. She watched with horror as the red ball fell away from her. Maddock—already positioned beneath Katie—caught it. The sharp stab of embarrassment eased with the relief. 

“Interesting pass from Bell to Maddock,” Quincy announced from above the stands. “Maddock to Haver and back to Bell! Bell takes the shot and—SCORE for Magpies!”

Maddock high-fived her as she flew past, and Katie caught Oliver’s eye and arched both her eyebrows at him. In return, he quirked one of his. A smirk formed on her lips.

The score climbed higher and higher as the game wore on, the cold deepening as the wind shifted. Katie felt none of it and scored three more times in the span of twenty minutes. 

“MAGPIES pull ahead again and by three goals!” Quincy screamed as the score increased to 200-170. “Bell is killing it!”

Pulling away from the goal hoops, Katie touched McKenna’s back. Maddock held up two fingers and dove down. The Puddlemere Chasers had regained control of the Quaffle. Following Maddock, Katie went into a spin, carefully angling herself so she would barely graze the opposing Chaser. Maddock followed through on the other side. Puddlemere’s Chaser, however, was ready for their move and pulled up instead. Katie went after him, McKenna already heading him off halfway across the pitch. The Chaser made to pass to his teammate. Katie pulled a sharp turn and intercepted the Quaffle. Cradling it to her body, she spun around and flinched as a Bludger whizzed past her face. The Bludger doubled back in a careening wobble. She veered to the right and then left. Katie ran shoulder-to-shoulder with one of Puddlemere’s Chasers, the Bludger still on her tail. Darlene—or it could have been Shirlene for all Katie knew—dove in between Katie and the Bludger, and with one  _ whack _ from her bat, it collided with the Chaser’s side, throwing her off Katie. Taking her chance, Katie flew for the goal hoops.

“Brilliant interception by Magpie’s Beater. BELL’s got the Quaffle. She’s going in for another score!” The Magpie fans roared, and Quincy encouraged them, rousing up a good rendition of  _ The Night is Clear and Perfect for Quidditch _ , a fan favorite. “If she makes it, that’ll bring the score up to 210-170. Magpies for the win!!”

Tuning them out, Katie glanced to her left where Alasdair aligned himself for their next play. McKenna weaved herself in and out between Katie and Alasdair. Katie tossed Alasdair the Quaffle, who passed it to McKenna and back to Katie again, the red ball moving in a winding loop between them. The move was called the Kryophski Twist, and it was designed to confuse the Keeper and make interception by the opposing team difficult. Katie kept her eyes trained on the goal hoops where Oliver’s head snapped back and forth as he watched the path of the Quaffle with focused precision.

She held out her hand behind her. The Quaffle landed in her palm. Katie gripped it, cocked back her arm, and—

 

oOo

 

Katie woke in the Healer’s tent, her head throbbing. Her knee ached and she had a funny sensation hovering around her left ear. All noise was muffled. Groaning, she tried to sit up but was pushed back down.

“Don’t move,” she was told in a warbling voice. “You’ve had a nasty Bludger to your head. Close your eyes. The dizziness will pass.”

She wasn’t dizzy, she thought, but then a wave of nausea passed through her. Closing her eyes proved the preferable option. A hand lifted her head slightly, and a potion was slid down her throat. Katie didn’t have time to gag before she was encouraged to drink another. The second potion cleared her head.

“You can open your eyes, Miss Bell.”

A young man stood in front of her wearing the white robes of a Healer. His jade-colored eyes flicked back and forth over Katie’s face. She blinked a few times and the hazy shapes around her sharpened. 

“Name?” he asked.

Katie sighed, knowing the routine. “Katie Bell, Friday night, and Bodmin Moor Millenium Stadium.” She smiled at him. “Did I get it right?”

He glanced down at a clipboard but smiled. “Yes,” he said, setting the clipboard down. 

“Did we win?” she asked.

The Healer hesitated, and Katie’s stomach dropped.

“It was a close game,” he said, “but Puddlemere caught the Snitch.”

It was like someone had squashed her heart. It throbbed in her chest. “Oh.”

“Is any of this tender?” he asked, running his hands over the back of her head and down her neck.

“No,” she said, studying the ground. The tent was just that: a white canvas structure set up inside the stadium. Outside, she could hear a muffled version of the Puddlemere United theme song. 

“Good.” The Healer set the clipboard down. “Wait here a moment. I’ll be back.”

Left alone, Katie swung her legs and gingerly touched the side of her head. All was intact and nothing hurt anymore.

“Well, if it isn’t Katie Bell.” 

Katie looked up. The flaps of the Healer’s tent parted, and Oliver walked in. He held his right hand against the side of his face, a thin stream of blood having run down his neck.

Katie, possibly still addled in the head from the Bludger, fell back on old habits. “Katie Bell, Friday night, and Bodmin Moor Millenium Stadium,” she said.

Oliver, having hopped up onto the table across from her, took pause. “It warms my heart to know you’re alert and oriented, Bell,” he said, pulling his hand away from his face. “I used to wonder about you sometimes.” Seeing blood covering his fingers, he cringed and returned to pressing his hand against his face. 

“What happened to you?” she asked, leaning to the left to get a better look at the right side of his face.

Removing his hand, he turned his head to the side. “Had a bit of an argument with your Chaser’s broom,” he said. “Is it bad?”

A small gash ran just in front of his ear. She could tell it had bled a lot, but the wound had already clotted. “Head wounds bleed a lot,” she said. “It’s not bad. Just a small cut.”

Oliver nodded and poked at the cut with more bravado. It reopened slightly, blood oozing out. Hopping off the table, Oliver rummaged around in one of the drawers. He returned with a wad of gauze and pressed it against his face. “So,” he said, sitting back down, a grin on his face.

Katie sighed and picked at the stitching on the inside of her robes. “Yeah, I heard,” she said. “Puddlemere won.”

“Well, I was going to comment on you playing for the Magpies.” He made a  _ tsking _ noise. “You’re the enemy now,” he said, “but if you want to talk about the game, we can talk about the game.” He pointed at her. “You dropped the Quaffle.”

Her head snapped up. “ _ What? _ I did not.”

“I know what I saw. You’re a bad liar, Katie,” he said. “You always have been.”

Gritting her teeth, she gripped the padded edge of the table. 

“I was surprised, myself, when I saw it happen,” he said. “I mean, Katie Bell dropped a Quaffle. Who would have guessed in a million years—”

Katie kicked out with her foot. “ _ I didn’t drop the Quaffle _ .” She looked Oliver in the eye, her jaw set. “End of story, got it?”

Oliver shifted further away from her, making sure he was out of both kicking and swatting range. “Okay, okay,” he said. “Quit kicking me.”

“Quit saying I dropped the bloody ball.”

Standing, Oliver banished the bloody gauze. “You can believe what you want,Bell.”

A different Healer—a severe-looking woman with thin lips pressed in a line—entered the tent, and pointed at Oliver. “You,” she said. “Sit down.”

He pointed at his face. “It’s just a scratch,” he said. “I’ve already determined that I’ll survive.”

“Mr. Wood—”

Oliver ducked around her and made his way to the exit, the Healer on his tail. Pushing the

tent flaps out of the way, he turned back around, hand raised. “See ya, Bell.”


End file.
